The women who have been most acceptable to patriarchal culture are those who have been powerless; passive rather than active, self-sacrificing rather than self-assertive, meek rather than bold. Mythology, religion, fairy tales and popular literature all reflect this split in its myriad forms. The "good" submissive women have been rewarded with praise, marriage, admiration and sanctification; the "bad" assertive women punished by ostracism, opprobrium and death
When I meet a person sometimes I see this character within them. Not their ego, not their fears, not their beauty or charm, but something else. Some kind of archetype. Sometimes it's powerful and massive and sometimes it shy and shrinking. Sometimes it's even a little eerie and unerving. But not this time.
She moves through this experience of learning how good she was at being bad, to being released out into the world a new naïve fledgling villain, hungry at the prospect of her first victim and then onto the fully mature evil queen bathing in the blood of innocence, fully realized and without remorse.
The concept for this production came to me at a time when I was watching a lot of period film pieces like “Marie Antoinette” and “Anna Karenina” mostly for the beautiful costumes, decorated ladies and impressive productions but a sad truth stood out to me while analyzing these beautiful films; these high society women, who were so incredibly extravagant and polished, were nothing more than pawns in a game made for men. These women were the property of their fathers before being married off to a stranger and they had absolutely no rights, even when it came to their own children
Rich with history, this old house is a landmark in the north end of Tacoma Washington. An Italian style villa built for a mother with a broken heart. In the mansion she lived in before, just up the street a few blocks, her oldest son died right there on the front porch. Some say it was from a heart condition but the rumors said the father murdered him for his preference of lovers, being other men.
A point came in my life when I realized that all I had believed to be true as a child, was a façade, a lie, a terrible deception. Just some words said to make me feel safe, happy, and hopeful for the future. When I was young everyone was nice to me, they gave me gifts, made funny faces at me, played with me, protected me. They created a safe place. A place where someone always made sure that I got fed, was warm, and soothed. As I grew older I started to see less and less of this free love.
When I started out in photography I was immediately interested in dressing people up and creating a story. Like theater. Creating an idea rather than a person. Instead of commercial photography I gravitated toward fine art without even really knowing what it was. I diverged from this path for a while because someone told me that I couldn't make money doing it. So I started shooting babies, weddings and families and it was nice but it never made my eyes water, my voice shake, or my heart pound.
I was fortunate enough to be a part of a CreativeLive class being taught by the amazingly gentle and introspective Jennifer B. Hudson, which immediately unveiled the trembling truth; that I wanted to create my dreams, worlds and fantasies. To bring the stories to life that have occupied my imagination since I was a child, not only for myself but for others as well